


ersatz

by Elendraug



Category: Xenosaga
Genre: Alcohol, Childhood Trauma, Drinking & Talking, M/M, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Sexual Dysfunction, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: “How did you jerk off at the institute?”Gaignun opens his eyes, squints against the reflected sun, and takes a sip of his gimlet before answering. “Quietly.”





	ersatz

**Author's Note:**

> warning for discussions of fucked-up childhoods and also a mention of a pet's death
> 
> takes place a few years before XSI, let's say when they're 22 or so
> 
> still can't get xenosaga out of my system, man. it's just eating away at me
> 
> thanks to [stitchedmoon](https://drawingwithjerin.com/xs/) for the beta!
> 
> ♫ [thievery corporation - the foundation](https://youtu.be/bVgk7KZvavI)

“How did you jerk off at the institute?”

Gaignun opens his eyes, squints against the reflected sun, and takes a sip of his gimlet before answering. “Quietly.”

Jr. snorts and takes a swig from his beer. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Quietly, _and_ rarely.” With the glass resting against the arm of the chaise and condensation gathering on its surface, against the skin of his palm, he lifts his other hand to run his fingers back through the short strands of his hair. “Usually in the bathroom. It was the best way to erase any evidence, and even without a lock, you don’t often get visitors barging in on you if you’re ostensibly on the toilet.”

“Yeah. Probably smart.” Jr. rubs at the label on his beer until it’s peeling back, damp, sticky with adhesive, against the pad of his thumb. “I got caught once by one of the standards.”

Gaignun glances to him, speaks with the rim of the glass against his teeth. “What happened?”

“I was being fucking dumb.” He doesn’t turn his head to look at his audience of one, and instead stares out to the manufactured inland sea. “Thought I could get off real quick in the showers and rinse it down the drain before somebody saw, but somebody saw.”

“Mm.” Gaignun shakes his head, a slight motion before downing more of his drink and accepting its liquid burn. “Like I said. I didn’t try very often, for that reason.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I could lock any of the doors.” He watches the collected light dance on the generated waves. “Besides, they resented us for having the privacy of our own heads, even if we couldn’t have privacy physically. Ever since that, though, I triple check that the door is locked before I even try.”

Gaignun lets out a short huff. “Understandable.”

“The paranoia kills your libido after a point.” Jr. does look at last to him, and catches the red numbers on Gaignun’s hand refracting through his glass. “How have you handled it since then? Has anything improved in all this goddamn time?”

“It, ah... it hasn’t, really.”

“Huh. Yeah.” Jr. runs his tongue over his incisors. “Thought as much.”

“Did you want to get off?” Gaignun turns his head to more fully face to his left. “Do you want me to help?”

Gaignun is open to him, his posture inviting, relaxed into the easy recumbence of his lounger as much as he’s settled into the routine ebb and flow of their link. There’s a faint flush on his features from whichever drink he’s on, and when Jr. feels his own intermingled responses twist in his ribs, he knows Gaignun will feel them, too.

“Honestly? No.” Another swig, and he licks his lips. “I _want_ to want to, but I’m just not feeling it.”

Gaignun nods. “That’s fine.”

“Shelly’s told me that they've dealt with the same kind of feelings, you know? That it's just hard to feel up for it.” Jr. shrugs. “Dunno what would help at this point.”

“Mary’s said that sometimes she uses a vibrator for a few minutes so she can get to sleep more easily.”

“Maybe she’d let you borrow it.”

“Are you not borrowing one already?” Gaignun laughs under his breath, against the glass as he takes another sip. “I thought you were.”

“Hey, we don’t _have_ to borrow jack shit. I can just get my own.” He aims a fingergun in his direction. “But state-of-the-art sex toys can’t stop mental images of our dead cat from lodging in my mind’s eye when I’m trying to think of anything but.”

Gaignun winces. “Unfortunate. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Jr. stares at his feet, where his toes don’t reach the end of the lounge chair. “It just always comes back to Miltia, you know?”

Gaignun’s feet nearly hang off the edge, even with his knees drawn up. “Sooner or later, I think everything just might.”

“The one, uh. The one thing that always fucking haunts me?” Jr. laughs, his sharp exhale almost producing a tone as it passes into the bottle, as it sends the scent of hops and malt back to his nose. “This is gonna sound so stupid, but it’s true.”

“What is it?”

“That fucking ice cream truck.” He takes a larger mouthful of beer and sloshes it over his molars before swallowing the resultant foam. “Of all things, that’s the image I can’t get out of my head.”

Gaignun lets the half-melted ice in his drink tap against his upper lip as he tilts his glass back and filters it through his teeth. “Maybe you should write them a strongly-worded letter about the unacceptable presentation of their establishment.”

Jr snorts again.

“You could put it on my letterhead, if you like.”

“Yeah, I'm sure they'll be able to deliver it, since nobody even knows where Miltia is currently at.”

“Maybe it would soothe you to write it out anyway.” Gaignun shrugs, a subtle lift of his shoulders that elevates his hand and his glass along with the movement. “They say it can be therapeutic to write letters that you never send. Or address it directly to the dead letter office. Something like that.”

“Do you _honestly_ think anybody’s gonna deliver physical paper anymore without just transporting it through the U.M.N.?” He worries at the label, easing it away from the glass, one millimeter at a time. “We’d practically have to reinstate it all ourselves.”

“Admittedly, it's a bit of a throwback.”

“Maybe Jin would have an envelope for us to use. You could even lick it yourself, if you’re so excited for it.” Jr. sticks his tongue out at him. “It’d be archaic. A celebration of postal history.”

Gaignun sticks his out in return, faux-sneering. “And germ theory.”

“Okay, so wow me.” Jr. upends his beer to elevate the remainder of the liquid, takes a large drink, and leaves a scant amount at the bottom of the bottle. “Let’s workshop this shit. Tell me what my soul-searching treatise about their impact on my life should say.”

“I’ve found it’s best to allow others to write deeply personal documents on our behalf, so I think you’re on the right track by delegating it.” Gaignun’s eyes give away his amusement even when his expression is otherwise neutral. “That’s how the fan clubs have come into possession of so many intimate details of our genuine lived experience.”

“I think Shelley wrote the latest one about you, right?” Jr. tilts the bottle again to let the last of his beer gradually descend through the glass. “Am I up?”

“Yes. You’re on marketing duty next.”

“Always a blast to send email blasts.” Jr. sets the bottle down next to his chaise, driving its base into the sand to keep it upright. “So, my therapeutic letter that I’m personally writing from the depths of my humanity.”

“Right. Imagine this on the embossed letterhead.” Gaignun keeps his drink stable in his right hand, and gestures in a moment of subdued theatricality with his left. “To the proprietors of Harimaya Ice Cream: For years I have been frequently unable to achieve orgasm due to the unsightly appearance of your ice cream truck during the minor skirmish some now refer to as the Miltian Conflict.”

“Oh, this is legalese gold.” Jr. grins, and shifts to rest on his right side, his elbow braced on the arm of the lounger. “Off to a good start.” 

Gaignun holds up one finger, in a _wait for it_ sort of motion. “Images of your upturned and singed ice cream truck have haunted me well into my adult life, and have disrupted my ability to participate in a level of vigorous fucking I would otherwise be enjoying. As compensation for my suffering and inconvenience, I demand that I receive no less than five percent off my next purchase, if you ever happen to come back into business, so that _I_ can come once again as routinely scheduled.” He pauses to mime writing with an invisible pen on an invisible piece of paper. “Sincerely, the undersigned.”

Jr. laughs, his grin even wider, his chin on his palm. “How much have you had?”

Gaigun lifts his eyebrows and raises his glass in a silent toast. 

Jr. laughs harder. “Yeah, maybe I will do that. Maybe I’ll write them a letter.” He glances up, to the space between the far-off sections of the colony’s enclosure, where the stars pattern across every other segment of his field of vision, woven with the structure as if quilted by marvels of engineering. “Let’s go see Jin once we sober up.”

“Oh, why wait?” Gaignun drains the rest of his drink until the diluted dregs are all that is left. “I think he would be highly entertained that the contents of my beverage du jour reminded me of him so much, we simply _had_ to drop by.”

“Based on the name alone?” 

Gaignun licks his lips quickly to clear the taste. “Possibly also from the acidity.”

Jr. shoots him a sidelong look and can’t stop himself from smiling. “Are you going to admit to Jin that you’ve been day drinking?”

Gaignun shakes his head in an amicable taunt and leans slightly too far over the edge of his lounger to set his glass down on the beach, its cylinder crafted from the same substance. “Are you going to define ‘day’ when you yourself own a space colony that rotates giant mirrors to simulate a day and night cycle?”

“By that definition? Yeah.” 

“Technically,” Gaignun insists, righting himself with more effort than seems necessary, “we could rotate them at any moment, even if it’s decoupled from the usual timekeeping.”

Jr. shrugs. “Point taken, but I also don’t think Jin is any stranger to day drinking. The man lives in a bookstore.”

“I think he’s got the right idea.” Gaignun tilts his head back against the lounger again, as if surprised by the weight of his own skull. “That’s the life, right there. Surrounded by first editions.”

“Maybe he’ll let you suck his dick again.”

Gaignun opens his eyes just enough to catch Jr. smirking at him, and when he replies, he smiles until his face hurts. “Maybe he will. One can dream.”

“You know,” Jr. starts, as he drifts his gaze over their highly localized biome, idly hoping to spot any of the wildlife they’ve introduced. “Matthews also argues that you can’t day drink in space when there’s no day to be had.”

“Matthews,” Gaignun counters, obviously pleased with himself, “just argues.”

“He’s gotta keep up appearances. Otherwise nobody’s gonna believe him when he complains about the ‘debt’.” Jr. produces single-handed scare quotes with his left hand and rests his cheek against his right fist, his fingers folded down, digits over numerals. “Do you really wanna set up physical mail here? You think people’d go for that?”

“It’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?” Gaignun gestures vaguely. “Applying postage and waiting for delayed mail reminds you that you’re alive, like other minor hiccups. Like... the occasional leaky roof, or an errant mouse.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

Jr. watches how the light reflects in the green of Gaignun’s irises until he closes his eyes against the warmth, his hair ruffled up by the back of the lounge chair as he reclines against it. He’s a bit drunk, a bit susceptible to vertigo, and when he sighs into the synthetic ocean air, Jr. wants to kiss him.

“You look hot.”

“Thank you.” Gaignun laughs a little, softly, to himself. “Maybe it’s because I’m in direct sunlight.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jr. shifts again to free his right hand and sit up somewhat. “Maybe that’s why.”

Jr. reaches for his hand between their chairs, and Gaignun knows through proprioception, without any sixth sense other than the one that all of humanity shares, that Jr. has extended his hand out towards him. He lifts his left hand out to take his right in return. Calloused fingers that took to a pistol touch those that held a rifle at twelve, set it down, and never neared a firearm again. 

Gaignun laces his fingers with Jr.’s and lets the tangible affection echo across their link. “You ever think about how the fan clubs know literally nothing about us?”

“Hey, maybe it's okay that they don't.” Jr. leans his head back against his chair, allowing the first hints of sleep to tug at his awareness, augmented by the alcohol. “They say you should never meet your heroes. It's enough that we mean something to them.”

“It's not like you're going to know the authentic life of Captain Ahab or Dorothy Gale.” Gaignun squeezes his hand, gently, and tilts his head to smile at him, although his eyelids are heavy all the same. “But then, they’re not out there talking to people and running errands for them like you do.”

“But they _could_ be.” Jr. squeezes back to keep Gaignun’s fingers from slipping from his as his breathing evens out beside him. “I feel like with Dorothy there’s a case to be made that she’s running errands for the others who are traveling with her, or at least that she’s gotten the ball rolling, you know? She’s nominally the one who’s off to see the wizard, initially, right?”

But Gaignun’s already asleep as he’s finishing the sentence, and Jr. holds onto him even as he himself starts to drift off, even as his hand starts to cramp, until he’s no longer cognizant enough of himself to maintain their connection against the entropic influence of gravity, despite his best efforts.


End file.
